


Doppelgänger

by HamandChiise



Series: Junker Trash [2]
Category: overwatch
Genre: Explosions, Gen, Mentions of doppelgangers, like it would be really bad, what if these pairs met ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamandChiise/pseuds/HamandChiise
Summary: "Even more alarming to see were his Zomnics in pieces, scattered around a wild delinquent that looked like him- but if he decided to light himself on fire and roll around in dirt for a few months. The anger at his creations getting mangled was pale in comparison to the audacity of this little whelp, trying to one up himself, the great Jamison Junkenstein. "---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Mad Doctor meets Dr. Boom. Neither are really impressed. This is for NaNoWriMo, but I'm writing fanfic instead of a novel. Because I make poor life choices.





	

The two lanky figures stood opposite of one another. Approximately the same height and build, the same wild hair, though one was smouldering and the other brilliantly, shockingly white- the same wild, manic eyes… it was disconcerting. Jamison Fawkes and Doctor Jamison Junkenstein could have been brothers, the facial structure alarmingly similar and their mannerisms eerily alike. Even their accents put them in the same locale. The twin prosthetics were jarring, bright orange and brown dust opposed sleek metal and bright blue electricity, but the same limbs were replaced, down to the fact they each had a peg leg in the 2060’s.

It seemed that they both had the same ideas about taking what didn’t belong to them as well, because that is what had them in their current predicament. Both men had their respective weapons out and their trigger fingers were getting itchy, both men’s eyes flicking to and from the hall, looking for the best place to launch where they wouldn’t get splashed with their own firepower. It was like looking into the world’s worst fun house mirror. 

This had all began when Junkenstein, who had been kept unnaturally alive, alongside his creation, thanks to the Witch of the Wildes. He’d been lurking around the world for hundreds of years, causing mayhem and madness everywhere he went- but was, in this case, looking for a few incredibly important chemicals for his creation. The gas his monster pumped into his body took a few tricky materials, mainly found in Omnic manufacturing, as well as research facilities. So, naturally, breaking into one of these places was ideal. Unfortunately, he had been looking for more of said material in a pretty recognizable building- the same building the Junkers were robbing and destroying as part of their latest heist. 

So when the Doctor had turned a corner down a long hall to where the laboratories were and had nearly stepped into a giant yellow trap, he’d been shocked. Even more alarming to see were his Zomnics in pieces, scattered around a wild delinquent that looked like him- but if he decided to light himself on fire and roll around in dirt for a few months. The anger at his creations getting mangled was pale in comparison to the audacity of this little whelp, trying to one up himself, the great Jamison Junkenstein. So the Doctor destroyed the trap, a loud clattering that earned the blond’s attention.

His head whipped around, meeting the goggled eyes of the mad doctor. He could see orange eyes roving up and down, taking in the rather familiar appearance, and he did the same in turn. Suddenly, the mouth opened and a shrill call of, “Oi!... Holy Dooley!” followed, as the other hobbled closer.

The Doctor had pursed his lips, clearly unimpressed by this shriveled, lanky, soot covered maniac, especially because it was costing him zomnics and time. His creation was who knows where, looking for the chemicals as well, but this clearly meant something was going wrong. 

“Well look at you, awfully unkempt fer a Suit!” The Junker jabbered, earning a growl. Insults, perfect. Just what he needed. He was usually above such things, but he found his mouth moving to retort.

“Looked in a mirror lately? You’re the filthy one- get out of my way before I scrap you like you scrapped my bots!” He warned, raising his launcher. The Doppelgänger, which is what it had to be, some sort of evil twin, raised his own launcher, (it appeared to be cobbled out of garbage of all things) and offered a sharp grin. 

“Hah, I’ll blow you sky high like I did them. You suits think keeping scrap heaps around to protect your stuff does a lick of good, when all it makes is a bigger mess!”

Junkenstein’s browless face furrowed and he snarled, “I was here first, I’m getting that material, you wouldn’t know the first thing to do with those chemicals!”

To which the other barked a laugh and wriggled. “We’ve planned this heist for weeks and someone else wants to rob it? Oh this is good. But hate to break it to ya, me partner’s already got the chemicals, too bad for you~” He went on in a sing song voice.

Both men were eyeing each other up, waiting for the appropriate moment to fire, at an impasse, when jangling met their ears. Junkenstein perked up, that jangling meant his creation was on his way, surely two on one was better odds. But, infuriatingly, the other man perked up as well, and his giggling got more shrill. Junkenstein looked concerned. Why was the jingling of the chain so loud, magnified in these small halls?

Junkenstein’s eyes widened as a huge figure walked to stand behind his Doppelgänger. He had his own monster. A hulking man, hair silvered and face obscured with an obscene pig mask... He had a massive tattoo on his monstrous belly, clad in armor appearing to be cobbled together, like the other wiry Junker. He couldn’t help but look him over, appreciative of his form. After all, Junkenstein had created his own monster to be vast, powerful, and this doppelgänger had a man of his own, flesh and blood born to be that huge… It wasn’t fair, really. Junkenstein felt a quiet hatred that even in this, the doppelgänger was trying to match him.

But the wiry Junkenstein felt the soft press of cool flesh, a shadow fall over him and he took pleasure in seeing not just his own double, but the armored man take a step back. That was right, the filthy duo opposite him were nothing compared to the grand nature of his creation, his Magnum Opus. No one understood his beauty, except the Doctor, and it was glorious. His being took in a deep breath, letting it out with a low groan that ruffled Junkenstein’s hair. Perfection.

“You’ve got a Hog too?” The Junker gasped, replacing his step backward and craning to take in Junkenstein’s Monster more appreciatively. “Hog” seemed to take offense to that, putting a cautionary hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. Junkenstein’s creation set a large hand in turn on the mad doctor, urging him aside so he could get into the room. But Jamison stood his ground. While the mad Doctor sneered at the being calling his Opus “Hog”. Truly, that name would suit him if he were some sort of animal (but mostly he was frustrated he’d not been able to come up with a name that his monster liked. He was running out of names).

“Oi, Roadie- the chemicals all loaded up? Bombs are rigged to blow.” The blond asked, seemingly unaffected by the two rival thieves in the room. He received a nod and a grunt as his answer. The Doctor snapped, clearly fed up with this nonsense as he pressed forward.

“Those chemicals are essential for my operation, not meant for petty explosives or whatever you have planned!” Junkenstein placed a protective hand to his immense monster, the green beast letting out a growling thrum and readying his hook with a jangle.

His zomnics scrapped around him, Junkenstein was going to have to do something truly desperate to get to the chemicals before the whole place was leveled around them. He needed his creation out of there before something befell him that the doctor couldn’t fix. Those chemicals were essential to keeping his monster, his terror, his pride, in good working order, like his zomnics- and he wasn’t going to be stopped by these two. They were only mortal men.

Strangely enough, that seemed to stop the thinner Junker, and he tilted his head, rather bird-like, “Hog, go ahead and let them have ‘em. We got plenty of other material, it ain’t worth the fight against the pair a’ them. Plus we’ll still level the building once we’re all outta here. Stick it to them suits.” 

The silver haired man let out a noise that sounded like a disgusted grunt, but then stepped out of the room again, lumbering off. That left the skinny doppelgänger alone with creator and creation. That was it? He just got them? No fight? 

“Why?” Junkenstein asked, voice thick with suspicion as his “twin” put away his launcher and turned to follow after his partner in crime.

The smouldering junker gave him a toothy grin. “You gotta keep him in good working order, yeah? Your Hog. You put yer arm on ‘em when you said you needed them chemicals. You made him for you, an’ I’m lucky enough to have mine. So you can take em-”

His voice turned dangerous as his smile grew feral. “If you can get outta here in one piece.” 

What followed was monumental chaos as something was tossed from the Junker’s hand in his direction before the junker cackled and hobbled off. The object, what looked like a mine of some sort, was coming right for him until it was batted away by a massive hand. A quick yank on his midsection kept the explosion across the room from hitting the doctor, the brunt of it slamming through his monster instead. He was pulled along and out as a distant ringing was signalling the junkers explosives were primed, ready, and going off. They had to get out.  
His creation had slung Junkenstein across a large shoulder, the barreling form crashed outside the building and down the alley as the ground shook and fire licked at their backs. Junkenstein could feel the labored breathing and pounding heartbeat of his creation, could almost taste the electricity curling along the electrical towers his face was inches from. The beast lumbered to their own method of transport, a massive carriage, a few blocks over. Jamison was set down and fretted over his monster, who just let out heavy breaths but said nothing. 

After assessing the damage was minimal at best, Junkenstein cursed the two junkers for their trickery, and was vowing revenge as he ripped open the door to his carriage, only to see a box of the chemicals waiting inside, a crude smiley face drawn on the outside of the wood.

Strange.

He encouraged his creation inside and cradled the supplies close, looking out into the dark night as the sirens began to wail. Maybe revenge was too strong a word… but they would meet again. Of that, he was quite certain.

**Author's Note:**

> A Doppelgänger is a German word for a paranormal phenomenon of a double-being, usually a harbinger of bad luck. It tickles me to no end to think that Dr. Junkenstein thinks that Junkrat is a harbinger of such bad luck, such evilness, that he calls him a doppelgänger. Also, wishing these guys could meet so bad. I'm sure they'd have a lot to say to one another. Thanks to my Junker half for reading and offering feedback on it.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far!


End file.
